


when she asks to be loved this way

by leaveanote



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Partners, Love, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sex, She pronouns for Crowley, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote
Summary: Aziraphale identifies as a gay male, if a human is asking, as it’s the truest approximation of his general preferences. But of course though he’s gotten rather accustomed to a male gender, he only bothers with a physical sex when he and Crowley are interested in making use of it, and though his brief dalliances with humans, unlike Crowley, have extended only to those who identify as male, ultimately, his sexuality is firmly, helplessly, exclusively Crowley.She’s a woman less and less often these days, and Aziraphale understands without asking that it’s because humanity got far worse about womanhood a few thousand years ago, the danger a pressing thing. She does it for tempting, and when she feels safe enough to do it without a hassle, and when she wants it, when they’re alone.Like tonight."no matter what you do, no matter the way you let the light of this earth hit you, I am so in love with you.”





	when she asks to be loved this way

Aziraphale identifies as a gay male, if a human is asking, as it’s the truest approximation of his general preferences. But of course though he’s gotten rather accustomed to a male gender, he only bothers with a physical sex when he and Crowley are interested in making use of it, and though his brief dalliances with humans, unlike Crowley, have extended only to those who identify as male, ultimately, his sexuality is firmly, helplessly, exclusively  _ Crowley _ . 

She’s a woman less and less often these days, and Aziraphale understands without asking that it’s because humanity got far worse about womanhood a few thousand years ago, the danger a pressing thing. She does it for tempting, and when she feels safe enough to do it without a hassle, and when she wants it, when they’re alone. 

Like tonight.

She was hesitant, at first, in this new stage of their relationship, because once Armaggedidn’t and they confessed their love and began sleeping together, it was irretrievably clear that Aziraphale loved Crowley’s cock. He does, after all, prefer men. But that first late night she sighed, four bottles drained between them, and walked to the bedroom, hips swaying exactly the same as they always do, Aziraphale grabbed her wrist and sunk to his knees. 

She looked at him in surprise, but Aziraphale could feel her pulse quickening beneath his fingers, he knows that signal like he knows his own heart.

“I thought you only —”

“Please, my darling,” the angel had said, his other palm finding its way up her calf, “there’s no shape of you I don’t want.”

Now they’ve been a glorious, rebellious, tangle of each other for going on five years, living in the stolen aftermath of the world that shouldn’t’ve been, the world that gloriously  _ is _ , and Crowley’s been almost consistently a man for the past three. Tonight, though, they haven’t seen each other for weeks, business to attend to, and upon their reunion, a woman struts to where Aziraphale sits, waiting at their usual table at the Ritz. She wears a glittering midnight blue gown that clings to her curves, so sharp they’re nearly angles, her neckline a plunging array of soft folds. A gold snake necklace (it’s  _ probably  _ a necklace) entwines around her slender throat, the head of it plunging between her small, full breasts. The angel looks up and promptly drops his fork. 

“Madam,” he says, his voice low in his throat. He springs up from the table to pull her chair out for her. “You look magnificent this evening,” he murmurs in her delicate ear as she arranges her gown on the seat. “As always.”

She gives a laugh as Aziraphale stumbles over his own feet getting back to his own seat, and a waiter swiftly appears with wine and prosciutto wrapped dates.

“You’re old-fashioned, angel,” comes the warm, lilting voice. “I can get my own chair just as well as I can any other day.” Long, gold-manicured fingers pluck the delicacy from the plate and pop it between deep red lips. 

Aziraphale no longer has an appetite for food, which happens nearly every time Crowley looks at him the way she’s looking at him now. It would be frustrating, if he didn’t know she wouldn’t quite make it up to him afterwards, and if he wasn’t entirely focused on a different appetite.

“I know, I apologize,” he says, taking a long drag of wine. Her hair is coiled in a tight copper bun atop her head. Aziraphale can’t wait to make a mess of it. “I admit, I just wanted an excuse to get close to you.”

“You don’t need an excuse,” says the demon, and the toe of her impossibly high stiletto is making its way up his calf beneath the table. “You never do.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, and Crowley’s mouth turns up in a smirk.

“Shall we get this to go, then?” she asks him.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Aziraphale is fighting very hard to keep the ragged desire out of his voice while they’re still in public, but the demon’s toe has slipped between his thighs, and she gives a laugh and a snap and they’re home. 

“Food’s in the fridge,” Crowley says. She’s standing in front of the bed with a hand on her cocked hip, Aziraphale in the doorframe, taking her in. “Snagged us a handful of petit-fours, as well, if you’d -- ”

Aziraphale can’t take it anymore, not when she’s miracled  _ takeaway desserts  _ for afterwards, he’s closed the space between them, his mouth on hers, a smear of lipstick and fragrance and beneath it all the familiar spice and softness that he would fight the universe to find.

“Crowley,” murmurs the angel. He lets his thumb pad her bottom lip; she lets her mouth fall obscenely open, then bites, grinning at him.

“Missed you, darling,” she says, her voice a rumble of want. “Decided to keep the look a bit longer. You mind?” She knows the answer. She wants to hear it. Aziraphale would tell her a thousand times over, and a thousand times again.

“Never,” he growls, hikes her gown up to her waist, and lifts her into a kiss. Crowley moans, lunging, wrapping her legs around him, and Aziraphale holds her like that, his hands hungry for her body. “All of this, all of you…” he lets his words trail off, lets her feel the hardening want between his legs press between hers. 

“Yours,” breathes the demon, “yours, yours, all yours, Aziraphale…”

The angel lays his lover on the bed, running his hands over this form of her body, conjuring memories of the last time, reminding himself of what she likes best, where he can take her when she asks to be loved this way.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, hitching his fingers beneath the hem of her gown. “Mine.” Greedy angel. He has Crowley now, they have each other, and Aziraphale wants every bit of her she’ll share, to spend eternity figuring out new ways to give her himself. 

He pulls the dress over her hips and Crowley arches her back, gives him permission to pull it over her head. She’s wearing scarlet lace panties and nothing else, and Aziraphale’s desire courses through his veins. He uncoils the necklace, exposing her throat. He brings his mouth to one breast then the other, soft kisses over the soft curve of her, before he takes her nipple between his teeth and she arches up to him, gasping. He palms her hips, her waist, her thighs, knowing that she takes care when she crafts herself like this, and he touches her with due reverence. He wants to go slow, to languish over her, but the thrill is shifting through him and it’s been  _ weeks _ , he’s missed his love, he can’t help but reach a hand between her thighs. The lace is soaked through. He moans, reaches for the wanting heat of her, barely letting his fingers graze her folds through the fabric as he brings his teeth to the soft part of her ear, always her weakness, his mouth to the hollow of her throat, and she lets out a groan beneath him, writhing, bucking up against his fingers. 

“Tease,” she whispers throatily, her lipstick smeared, more on Aziraphale’s collar than her mouth now. Aziraphale runs the fingers of his other hand through her hair, undoing the bun, loving the long strands falling through his fingers. He tugs at it, just hard enough to expose a fresh line of her throat, and he drags his lips along it, letting his tongue flick out where it meets her shoulder. “ _ Oh… _ ”

Aziraphale kisses his way up her, drinking her in, keeping one hand between her legs, stroking too soft, almost lazily, and she’s pressing up against him. She goes to bite her lip but the angel gets there first, taking it gently between his teeth and letting his tongue taste her.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, the words lost in her mouth, in her moans, “tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t you dare, angel,” she whispers, a hint of a smirk playing at her mouth, and Aziraphale grins. He keeps up his fingers’ torturous pace as she scrambles for his tie, lets her pull it over his head, lets her get his shirt buttons undone, but before she can go for his trousers he pulls away. She gives a frantic groan but he kisses her mouth, undoes them himself, and in only his pants, which strain with his very obvious erection, he moves between her legs. He kisses her stomach, her hips, loving the shape of her.

“Anything you want, my darling,” he tells her, hot breath over her creamy thighs, “it’s yours.” 

“Aziraphale,” she moans, her voice high, her eyes fluttering shut. “Take care of me…”

This, this is what he loves most about this strange human act they’ve embarked on together. Yes, the hot friction of it, the sensory delight, but the true pleasure in sex is him getting to make Crowley feel good, at last, just the two of them, and he gets to conjure bliss between their bodies, another way to say what he tells her every day, every shape of her,  _ I love you, I’m here, I’m yours. _

Sometimes he’ll tease Crowley for hours, bringing her to the brink and  _ pausing _ , waiting for her to claw at him for it, beg him for release. Sometimes he gives it to Crowley hot and hard, filling him up from behind, and the demon spills against his hand helplessly.

Now, he works the lace off her, leaving her bare beneath him, and a hungry grin spreads across his face. 

“Gladly, beautiful,” he murmurs, his mouth a breath away from her. She rolls her hips up to meet him but he wraps his hands around her thighs and seizes them, holding her down. Tonight, she’s wet and hot and  _ ready,  _ the folds of her soaked and swollen and trembling, and Aziraphale can’t keep either of them waiting, but he decides to tease her just a little farther, bring her to the peak of wanting. He lets the very tip of his tongue just barely touch her entrance, feather-light, tracing it up the center of her to her clit, and the demon cries out. He does it again, tasting the want of her, reveling in the delicious almost-human scent, the salt of her, almost like the tip of Crowley’s cock when the angel gets him hard but crucially different, and Aziraphale memorizes it, hoards it greedily, lays claim to every part of her.

“Now, now, I need you,” she moans, and Aziraphale smiles, digs his fingers into her thighs, and presses his tongue hard between her legs. “ _ Angel! _ ” she gasps, and Aziraphale moans into her, her taste, her open for him, and he pushes his tongue inside her. He’s on his stomach, pressing as hot and hard into her as he can, he moves up to run his tongue against her clit and she cries out again, rutting against his mouth, and he lets her.

“Take it, darling, take what you need from me,” he murmurs into her, his words lost between her thighs but he makes sure she hears them anyway, the only miracle he’ll allow in this moment, everything else is body and effort, all for her. Crowley crooks her knees, digs her heels into Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulls him closer. He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, lapping at her with his tongue, this, this is how she likes it, he remembers, and true enough she reaches down, threads those lovely long fingers in his hair, and pulls his mouth even deeper into her. He licks her hard, pulsing rhythms against her clit, letting his tongue flatten and press against the slick heat of her. He feels her opening for him as her thighs press against his cheeks, and it’s all he can do to keep from touching his aching cock, but he keeps his focus on her, keeps his pace up. He licks her with the flat of his tongue, long and encompassing, getting all of her into his mouth and once, then the pointed tip of it, swirled mercilessly against her clit. She arches, thighs tight around him, and he slips his tongue beneath, into her cunt, fucks her with it, feels her tighten around him, gasping, and he pushes his tongue as deep as he can, lets it stretch into the salt of her. She tugs his hair at the root, rolling her hips up to meet him, and he revels in her want, how she wants to be touched every way he can touch her, in her beauty and the way he can make her body rise and swell like this, and he loves every bit of Crowley with everything he is. 

“I — I need your fingers,” the demon asks hoarsely, and a fresh wave of desire sweeps through Aziraphale. He gives a low moan, and without stopping his pace, laving his tongue within her wetness, he pushes her thighs back, leans forward, brings his hand up to her mouth. Crowley takes two of his fingers between her lips and sucks, getting them slick, the feel of her tongue on him making Aziraphale nearly lose his pace, but he holds his own, slips in a third and then she’s moaning around them, pulls her mouth away, begging now, “ _ please, angel, it’s so good, I need you…” _

Aziraphale moves his mouth back to her clit, lets his index finger circle her entrance, loving the way it draws him in, the way Crowley’s body always does. She ruts her hips up to him, trying to push him inside her — and when he does at last, pressing two fingers deep in her with his lips flush against her clit, she cries out, legs falling open, her hands scrabbling at the sheets. 

“Yes — oh —  _ yes _ —” Crowley gasps, and she lets her angel take over and Aziraphale  _ loves _ it,  _ mine _ , he thinks, he murmurs into her, so furiously smitten with every facet of this gorgeous creature, his mouth moving hot and ragged against her now, long and hungry licks as he fucks her with his fingers. He pushes up inside her and she sobs, clenching around him as he presses into that familiar beautiful spot. “Don’t stop, angel,” she whispers, “please,  _ there _ , right there —” He works his fingers furiously, curling them, fucking them up into her as he holds her hips steady with his other hand, and she’s spilling over, so tight around him, rocking hard against his mouth, onto his fingers, until, as she does, she goes still, frozen and trembling, her knuckles white on the sheets, and Aziraphale knows she’s on the edge. He can’t help it — he lets her linger there for one torturous extra moment, eyes flicking up to catch sight of his beautiful lover, copper hair strewn across the pillow, nipples hard and slender back arched, mouth open in delicious agony, wanting, trusting, waiting — and then he  _ gives _ it to her, slipping a third finger into her and fucking them deep and  _ there _ , his mouth moving at the pace she needs, tongue and lips and teeth, utterly devoted to her, and then Crowley comes, shuddering, wet and tight and wondrous, and Aziraphale glories in it, gathering all of her he can into himself. 

He’s barely slipped his fingers from her, grinning, when she pulls him between her legs.

She’s breathless and spent but still burning for him, he feels it, and his mouth parts to ask but she’s already nodding hard. 

“Fuck me, angel,” she demands, and he will never, ever tire of hearing that, keeps a collection of Crowley asking him this in a corner of his mind.  _ Mine _ . Mine to touch, to love, to worship. He gets his pants off and he’s so hard for her and she gives a long, obscene groan at the sight of him. She reaches for his cock and he lets her stroke him like this for just a moment before he seizes her wrist, pins it to the pillow, and enters. 

“ _ Aziraphale! _ ” she cries out, her voice a wreck of want, and he’s lost in the white-hot bliss of her, tight and pliant, engulfing him.

“My love,” he murmurs into her ear. He fucks her oversensitive pussy slow and deep, letting her feel every inch of him. She’s beneath him, rolling up to meet him, and he fills her up. Crowley wraps her legs around his back, pulls him in as deep as she goes, and a moan wrenches its way out of Aziraphale’s throat.

“Do I feel good, angel?” she asks, her voice a daze of want. 

“Always,” he answers truthfully, marveling at her hot and slick and tight around him, “always, always, you feel fucking amazing...” 

He props himself up on his hands and watches Crowley as he makes love to her, the shifts of her brow, her lips caught in her teeth, the hollows of her cheeks as she moans with him inside her, the wreck of breath. He presses kisses to her throat, her breasts, always returning to that lovely mouth. She licks his lips, grinning, tasting herself, where he’s sticky with her. This is almost too much, Aziraphale’s own desire is growing, intense and reckless, but he won’t let himself get there until she wants him to.

“I love you,” he says softly, firmly, “I love you, Crowley.”

She smiles even brighter through her gasps.

“I love you, Aziraphale.” Her eyes flutter open, her cheeks flushed. “I think — I think I can come again,” she says, hoarse, and desire mounts even fiercer in the angel.

“Oh, darling — how do you want me?”

She reaches for him, cups his cheek, kisses his mouth, then wordlessly pulls away. Crowley loops her leg around him and the angel understands. He lets her settle on her stomach, splay herself on all fours for him, and when he enters into her from behind she cries his name. He takes hold of her hips and she’s bucking back against him, taking him as deep as she can, and he remembers, slipping his knees between hers, pushing one hand to the small of her back to arch it and — 

“ _ Yes!  _ Oh, angel,  _ there _ , please, please — harder...you can go harder…”

Aziraphale focuses in on that spot in her, the exact angle she needs it, and he lets his body take over, fucking her harder now, pounding into her, her body letting him in, opening for him and clenching around him at once. He keeps one hand on her hip and lets the other cup her breast, trace her waist, and then, when she’s pushing back on him so hard, he lets it slip around her hips. He fucks her hard and deep and finds her clit again with his fingers, the slick pearl of her, and he rubs it in time with his thrusts and he feels her tighten around him. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ , Aziraphale,” her voice low and rough now. “I — I’m so close again — fill me up, please, I want to feel you fill me up, I want you hot and deep and spilling inside me, please,” and Crowley’s rocking back against him hard, taking him so deep, and he’s lost in the rhythms of her, “I want to make you come, angel, I want you to come inside me, I want to feel it — ” she gives a wracking sob, clenching around him, he quickens the pace of his fingers, “— please, Aziraphale — ”

And he fucks her hard and fast and  _ there _ , the curve of her ass hot against his lap and thighs, her body writhing, waiting, aching beneath him, and she’s so slippery beneath his fingers and she pushes back on him so hard, and the angel can’t take it anymore. He cries out Crowley’s name and focuses all his energy on keeping up the pace of his fingers even as he comes hot and deep inside her, thrusting through it, his other hand a bruise on her waist, and then he feels her still and clench and then she’s bucking back against him so hard, drawing out his own orgasm, shivering beneath his hand and around his cock, the bedroom alit with their names and their power and the sweet sticky scent of them, and Aziraphale feels her come again, shuddering around him, so, so full of him.

“Ohh…” he whispers at last. He slips out of her, can’t keep from grinning as he sees his come drip from her, and Crowley rolls over, utterly spent, and pulls him into her arms. 

“You’re so good to me,” murmurs the demon. Aziraphale rests his head on her shoulder. He leans up to caress the slope of her nose, the jut of her chin, memorizing her like this. 

“I only ever want to be good for you, my darling,” he says softly. He brushes his mouth to the curve of her breast, lets his hand rest on her narrow hips. “Be yourself with me, Crowley,” he says, quiet and clear. He looks up at her, and she looks down at him, her lips parted, tightening her arm around him. “I hope you know you can. Always. Your true self, the shifting wondrous creature you are, because no matter what you do, no matter the way you let the light of this earth hit you, I am so in love with you.” He strokes her hair, and she’s smiling at him with a brightness in her eyes that tells him she believes him. 

“I trust you, angel.” It took her so long to get here, but only because it took Aziraphale so long to earn it. They’re here now, thank someone. 

Thank each other. 

“As you once told me, my darling -- I’ll come to you. Wherever you are. I’ll find you. You are my garden, my world. Everything else is backdrop for us to play in. I know you, Crowley,” the angel says, “and I am in love with all of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to write this.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Yes, they get up and eat leftovers and petit-fours afterwards.
> 
> check out my other a/c fics (both fluff & smut), and follow me on tumblr at letmetemptyou
> 
> thank you for reading <3


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